


Colour-blind

by Kienova



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: 2016 Christmas special, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Discussion of Racism, F/M, South Africa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9152596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: “And do they often get adopted?” The question earned him a snort.“Black families often cannot adopt them as they have enough children of their own, or they cannot afford to bring a child into their household. The children there grow up in the orphanage and then will find work wherever they can once they're old enough.”“But couldn't others adopt them? Families from a Port Elizabeth or -”“If you're not black you can't adopt a black baby. Not here.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I've had floating around in my head since the few production pictures surfaced months ago about the 2016 CS. Please see end notes for more information regarding legal and historical concepts. Also please note I've taken some liberties with the legal system here because it's fiction.

They've only been in Africa four days when he notices his wife is missing, spending a good twenty minutes walking about the clinic until he finds her in the general ward, a little baby on her lap as she speaks to a woman dressed in a habit. He watches them from the doorway, noting how the nun isn't one he knows from the clinic, but how she seems perfectly comfortable in the environment regardless, her hands clasped delicately in front of her as Shelagh gives her some instructions.

After a few moments he wanders over, coming so stand at his wife’s side and looking down at the little girl in her arms, the child no more than six months old tracking his movements as he leaned over Shelagh's shoulder.

“Everything all right?” He queried, reaching out a hand to the little one, grinning when she grabbed his finger in a tight fist, shaking his hand up and down with wide brown eyes.

“Just here for a checkup,” Shelagh replied, smiling up at him. “She looks just fine Sister, nothing more than a little bit of heat rash,” Shelagh explained, passing the baby back to the nun with a wistful expression.

“Thank you Mrs. Turner,” the Sister said, taking the little one into her arms and heading for the exit of the ward.

“Is she another one of the Sisters working here at the clinic?” Patrick questioned, resting a hand on Shelagh's shoulder.

“No,” Shelagh responded, “she works at the orphanage a few miles away.” The words were spoken quietly but he could hear the pain they caused his wife. He knew any child without parents affected her even more since they had gotten Angela a few years prior, but he could practically sense her agony as she looked at the door, watching the white habit of the woman disappear into the sunshine.

“I'm sorry my love,” Patrick whispered, giving her shoulder a squeeze, the only sign of affection he would allow himself in front of the patients, before he took his leave of the room. It wasn't until a few hours later, when he was working alongside Doctor Myra, that he thought of it again.

“Doctor Myra, does the orphanage receive regular medical care?” The words were out his mouth before he could think better of it, the doctor giving him a glare from across the table.

“Of course,” she snapped. “Any time a child is sick one of the sisters will bring them here and we do the best we can for the little ones.”

“And do they often get adopted?” The question earned him a snort.

“Black families often cannot adopt them as they have enough children of their own, or they cannot afford to bring a child into their household. The children there grow up in the orphanage and then will find work wherever they can once they're old enough.”

“But couldn't others adopt them? Families from a Port Elizabeth or -”

“If you're not black you can't adopt a black baby. Not here.” The words were said with finality, the doctor’s blue eyes giving him one last look of contempt before she swept from the room, one hand pressed to her side. Patrick frowned, tapping his fingers against the table for a few moments before sighing and retreating towards the canteen.

XxX

Three days later Patrick found himself at the orphanage, giving the children polio vaccines and watching Shelagh cradle the little girl from earlier in her arms, speaking softly to the child as the other nurses went about organising the vaccine program.

“She's very sweet,” he commented, watching the way the little girl grabbed for Shelagh. His wife smiled up at him, her expression torn.

“Yes, she is.”

“You know we can't. I would love to Shelagh, you know I would, but it's not allowed,” he sighed. He could read the longing off her with little to no effort.

“I know,” she mumbled, cuddling the girl close. “It doesn't make it any easier.” He went to say something else but she cut him off, venom lacing her voice in a way he wasn't used to for she so seldom lost her temper. “It makes me so mad Patrick. When I look at her I don't see her skin colour. I don't care that she's black and I'm white. I don't care that we don't look the same. All I see is a little girl who doesn't have anyone and I want to be that someone to show her how loved she is. Why can't everyone else see that? Why does the pigment of our skin matter? Why can't it just be love that matters?”

“I don't know,” he answered, giving the little girl a stroke on the cheek. He gave Shelagh a quick peck on the forehead, glad that no one way paying them any heed, before ducking out of the room, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he thought. Sister Julienne gave him a thoughtful glance as he made his way around her but he just smiled, mind whirring.

XxX

“What's her name?” Patrick questioned, listening to Shelagh's quiet, even breaths as she lay sprawled across his chest, the only other sound in the room that of the bugs that echoed in the darkness. He felt her tense against him, her breasts dragging against his side as she repositioned herself slightly. He wondered if she would sit up and search for her nightgown, his words having disturbed the quiet peace that had been surrounding them since they finished making love a while earlier. Instead she just resettled in his arms, the hand that had been resting on his stomach coming up to his pectoral muscle, her fingers dragging through the sparse hair on his chest, nails raking against his skin.

“Kendi Anuarite. Her mother died in childbirth. Father was killed in the city before that. No extended family.” She didn't need to inquire who he was asking about, her mind having been swirling around thoughts of the little girl for nearly a fortnight.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head and pulling her tighter against his side, his spare hand coming up to twine their fingers together. He felt her breathing hitch for a moment, her face pressing into his neck as she attempted to burrow into him and away from the world.

“I know.” The words were pressed into his skin, her breath damp and hot against his collarbone as she hitched a leg over his hips before she moved to sit astride him, taking the hand that was laced with her own and placing it on her breast. “Make me forget,” she requested, a begging quality to her voice.

“Shelagh -” he started, wary of the emotions she was trying to suppress with the actions, her hips already rocking against him slightly, his hand tightening its hold on her without his conscious decision.

“I know. Please. Just for right now,” she reiterated. He surged up to kiss her, unable to deny her anything.

XxX

She spent any free time she had at the orphanage, assisting the Sisters there and playing with the little girl, cuddling her close and whispering words of love to her. The girl flourished under the attention, giggling and smiling whenever Shelagh came into the room.

The Sisters shared worried and pained glances, knowing leaving would shatter the woman and confuse the infant. But none had the heart to stop her.

XxX

He slipped away while she was at the hospital in Port Elizabeth with Doctor Myra, using the excuse of needing to make a few phone calls in order to insure that the ailing woman received the best care. Instead he travelled as quickly as possible to the stiflingly hot office of a portly man with a broad grey and brown moustache, signing the documents that had been drawn up between London and Johannesburg before making their way to Port Elizabeth.

“You're sure you want to do this? It isn't natural -” the man started, a grim revolted expression on his face as he handed over the papers.

“Positive. And forgive me, but I'm not paying you an exorbitant amount of money to have your opinion unless it is of legal congress,” Patrick retorted, scribbling his signature on the last of the papers before taking the proffered envelope with the rest and retreating back out into the scalding sunlight.

XxX

Shelagh was practically inconsolable on the last night. She curled away from him in bed, crying into her pillow, shoulders shaking until she sobbed herself into an uneasy slumber, thrashing about in the heat of the room. He contemplated waking her a dozen times, to tell her what he had done, but he didn't. Instead he slept as much as he could, waking every so often to cuddle his wife close and try and calm her in her sleep.

The next morning dawned bright and quick, the head permitting the room quickly and banishing any lingering cold from the night. Shelagh dressed quietly, her movements subdued and eyes rimmed in red behind her glasses. Patrick carried their bags down to the car before retreating to the room to attain his wife, watching as she sighed, putting on a grave face before descending the stairs to bid the staff goodbye.

“You take good care of her,” Trixie whispered into Patrick’s ear as he hugged her farewell, a pointed glance in Shelagh's direction. He smiled at the younger woman, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

“I promise. You take care of Doctor Myra. And yourself, Doctor Franklin,” he replied, sending her a wink as he led Shelagh to the car. Shelagh settled herself silently into the bench seat, closing her eyes against the sun as the car started moving. She stayed like that until the car came to a halt only a few handfuls of minutes later, blinking against the light as she looked around, a broken sound escaping the back of her throat at the sight of the orphanage.

“Patrick,” she whispered, voice cracking on the second syllable of his name.

“I'm sorry my love. I'll be right back,” he said, kissing her on the forehead before dashing out of the car. Shelagh put her head in her hands, listening to the broken strains of music from the cab radio, the driver tapping his weathered fingers on the steering wheel as he hummed along to the tune. The song changed twice while they waited, the sound of the door opening and closing again the only notification that Patrick was back for a moment.

“May I carry on now Sir?” The driver queried.

“Yes, thank you,” Patrick replied, one hand coming to rest on Shelagh's thigh, drawing her attention up as the car lurched into motion. Nestled against Patrick's shirt was the sleeping little girl, a thumb tucked in her mouth as she nuzzled against the soft fabric.

“Patrick,” Shelagh breathed, unable to form words other than her husband’s name, eyes wide as she reached out, placing her hand on the back of the baby. He smiled at her, gently passing her the infant.

“We best hope no one at customs asks me to produce more than her vaccination record and exit visa until we’re back in England,” he hissed, grinning at how Shelagh's eyes welled up with tears, her hands shaking as she held the child to her breast.

“How?” She managed, laughing as the little girl awoke and yawned, grabbing for Shelagh's fingers a moment later and letting out a contented little sigh.

“I had a lawyer back in England that owed me a favour,” he replied, curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side, watching as the baby blinked at the sunlight and how the world rushed by the car.

XxX

The flight was long, Shelagh spending a large amount of time pacing the aisle as the baby fussed, not seeming to like air travel. Patrick didn't blame her, his hand tightly gripping the arm of his seat anytime the plane lurched from turbulence. When they landed back in England there was no struggle with customs, the officer accepting the adoption record with a confused look before stamping the visa paperwork, welcoming them to London as they shuffled through the line and back out into the English air.

“Welcome home little one,” Patrick grinned, placing a kiss on the baby's forehead just as he noticed Timothy, Angela and Granny Parker standing at the other side of the airport. The older woman was gaping at them, a shocked yet pleased expression on her features. Angela looked confused while Timothy couldn't stop smiling, laughing as he raced over to his parents with Angela in tow.

“I know I asked for a souvenir Dad, but I wasn't expecting you to bring me a baby,” Timothy joked, letting Angela loose so that she could grab onto Shelagh's skirt, his dark eyes focused on the way the baby looked up at him, his own gaze immediately filled with adoration. Patrick shrugged, smiling and stooping down to lift Angela up onto his hip, letting her see the baby.

“Tim, Angela, this is Kendi. She's your new little sister.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Adoption was first recognised in South Africa in 1923 under the Adoption of Children's Act. However, it wasn't until 1991 that transracial and bi-racial adoption became permissible in South Africa under the revision of the Children's Act. Transracial adoption is still a topic that many dispute, not always on grounds formed around racism, but rather concern for retaining the child's original culture. If you or anyone you know is considering a transracial adoption, please think about the impact on the child and make the commitment to retaining the child's culture and heritage through exposure, inclusion, and making sure that your home is a safe place for expressions regarding multiculturalism.


End file.
